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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752851">I'm writing you now just to see</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi'>tehhumi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>wakened into song [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fourth Age, Gen, Valinor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:55:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingolfin writes a letter to his half-brother after being reborn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anairë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Anairë/Fëanor | Curufinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë &amp; Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>wakened into song [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Leonard Cohen Title Challenge (Any Freaking Song but "Hallelujah")</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm writing you now just to see</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heavily inspired by Leonard Cohen's song "Famous Blue Raincoat."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nolofinwe looked down at the letter he had written. It was long and rambling, and he would be tempted to just throw the whole thing out and write it again except that he knew a second or third try would be no better. The letter was both honest and reasonably cordial, and that was all he could hope for in a letter to such a person.</p><p>
  <em>Fëanáro, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m writing this letter, before dawn as the year winds down, to say hello. I’d forgotten how harsh Tirion got this time of year, or perhaps it never was this harsh with Laurelin’s light pooling as it is under the sharp light of Anar. You made a good choice moving back to Formenos, where the mountains shelter you from the winds rather than funnel them straight at you, biting at your head if you dare stick it above the wall as sure as any arrow. I don’t know what you’ve been up to out there, but my grandson assures me the Metallurgical Guild would still be grateful to hear of any discoveries you make.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I recall how you looked when we left Tirion. People claim you were mad, but I just remember your grief, and how you never bothered to change out of that apron, always a dozen things more urgent. I know you felt abandoned; orphaned, the Valar doing nothing, Nerdanel still not speaking with you. I know that I myself was too full of heartache to hear any criticism or offer any comfort after our father’s death, even without your burdens. If I had stopped to think I would not have been surprised you would not listen to me or Arafinwe, and I do not hold any grudge against you for it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>After I Returned, Anairë told me that you had given her a lock of your hair as a gift. It seemed to sputter and jump like a flame, but she still keeps it on her dresser. She said – and I repeat it because most of us remember little of our time in Mandos – that you promised her a twin for it, if she wished it when you were Returned. I say this only to tell you of something you may not know, not to hold you to a promise given in such a strange situation. She said that you offered as proof that you would not be stuck forever, and that you would do whatever it took to please Namo enough to be allowed out.</em>
</p><p>Nolofinwe had to pause in his review of the letter at that, reminded all over again of his shock at first learning of it. Dead spirits were not supposed to be physical enough to have hair, or to cut off pieces of themselves and have the pieces linger. That Fëanáro had done so was astounding – to say nothing of the deep closeness between Anairë and Fëanáro that such a gift represented. They had never been more than cordial while Feanor was alive – Nolofinwe’s presence had made such impossible.</p><p>Their interactions, according to Anairë, had begun as simply a practical matter. Those who had remained in Tirion were desperate for news of the hither shore. Lord Namo considered speaking with the dead to be disruptive to their healing, but the Noldorin succession was a matter of importance that the Valar felt was a poor idea to interfere in further. So a representative would be allowed to communicate with Fëanáro, the last properly ascended king of the Noldor in Aman.</p><p>Anairë had been chosen as representative out of sheer lack of other options. Findis and Arafinwe were too scared of what Fëanáro might due to them as usurpers to the throne, despite Lord Namo’s assurances of safety. Indis and Fëanáro had not had a civil conversation in centuries, and Nerdanel had not done so in decades. Eärwen was not speaking to any Noldor or very understandable reasons. Anyone not associated with the royal house would be seen by Fëanáro as an insult.</p><p>So Anairë had gone to Fëanáro to find out news of her family. He was not perfectly informed, but he was not kept in isolation from the other dead if any wished to speak to him. Anairë and Fëanáro had worried together about their children and their people, and in time they had become friends.</p><p>Possibly more than friends, as a lock of hair was commonly given to signal romantic favor. But Nolofinwe could hardly begrudge his wife whatever comfort she had been able to find in the long absence of himself and their entire family. And whatever trick Fëanáro had discovered to make his hair a stable fire rather than burning out would still not result in a body that could sustain a physical affair.</p><p>With effort, Nolofinwe turned his thoughts away from the past, and back to the letter.</p><p>
  <em> I spent far too long figuring out how to address this letter – to my older brother, to my fleeting King, to the enemy of my Enemy, to someone who was not my murderer despite it all? What do I have left to say to you? After you threatened to kill me, then left me for dead?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I guess we’re left with the truth. I love you, I miss you, I have always admired you. I forgive you, I can’t trust you, I will still follow wherever you lead. At times I’m glad you stole the ships, and held a sword to my throat, so that I didn’t have to see what it would take to make me do such things myself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you find yourself in Tirion, I would love the pleasure of your company. My house is where it always has been. Anairë lives here as well, if you two wish to speak together. Thank you for that too, by the way. I hadn’t realized how much effort it took her to live up the idea of a holy, good wife to the less troublesome Noldorin Prince until she stopped. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>N. Finwion </em>
</p>
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